The French & Indian War
by Flightlessbird1457
Summary: Achilles welcomes in a daughter of one of his old pupils who wishes to make a life for herself in America. Awkward situations ensue with our favorite, monotone Mohawk Indian, Lover-boy Connor as he strives to understand this strange girl who confuses him so. {Just a fluffy drabble I'll be writing for when I can't think of anything for Tame the Savage (: T TO BE SAFE.}


"Connor," I heard Achilles call from down the hall of the manor. Sighing softly, I set down the book down and stood, walking to the doorway of my sleeping quarters, I leaned against the white wooden frame, lazily lolling my head into his view. By the look on my seniors face, he was not pleased with my attitude. With another heavy sigh and the irresistible urge to roll my eyes, I came into full view, shoulders slumped and eyebrows slightly furrowed.

"Sir…?" I answered with the slightest twinge of agitation in my voice. Before I knew it, the old man was limping to me with his cane, stopping just at my side only to curtly hit me with his walking aid on my head and rather hard at that. "Ow!" I cursed and turned my body to watch him continue down the hall so casually, as if he hadn't almost caused me brain trauma.

"Follow me," Achilles said simply, not even looking back as he headed down the stairs, "We're heading to Boston."

"Why are we going to town?" I asked, quickly grabbing my hood from inside my room and following after him.

"I need more paper and ink. Oh, and I'm expecting a young woman will be waiting for me." he answered plainly, taking his hat from the coat hanger and placing it on his head. My eyebrow twitched in slight surprise.

"A young woman? Who?" questions began to flood my mind. Was the young lady involved in the creed? Am I supposed to assassinate a woman? Was she a mistress of Achilles? The last thought made me gag a little.

"The daughter of an old colleague of mine who resides in France I believe. His daughter is here to pursue a new life here. But being a woman and only 20, she'll need help getting on her feet so I've agreed to let her stay with me for the time being," Achilles said, walking over to the carriage as I lead a horse over, hooking the vehicle shaft into the crew hole. After securing it and making sure the horse was comfortable, I took a seat on the coachman's pedestal on the front of the carriage.

"A French girl?" I asked a tad skeptically, whipping the reins to begin our trek to Boston.

"Yes, a half-breed actually, much like yourself," Achilles laughed while I snarled slightly at the insult so many used to degrade me, "Her mother is Italian I believe"

"How wonderful, the pleasures of an Italian and a Scot put into a woman." I mumbled to myself.

It took us at least an hour to arrive in Boston. Nothing had changed much. Prostitutes still hung back in the alleys, attempting to seduce men with their exposed bosoms; drunks yelled slurred rants of the British and something else about mint bunnies; then there was everyone else, men and women casually going about their day. The old man made his way down from the carriage and glanced around.

"Connor," he began, "I will head to the trading post,"

"Alright," I said as I closed the carriage door behind him, "What would you have me do?"

"Wait by the docks and ask around for a girl by the name of Annaliese St. Cyr." And with that, the man turned and limped away.

Pulling up my hood, I made my way to the docks, gently pushing through the crowd pedestrians. Now all that I had to do was look for the most pompous woman in a large powdered wig, ridiculously large dress and pale white face and I'd my job done in no time flat. Unfortunately, no such lady was waiting at the dock. I asked around only to be turned away. Finally, I came to the end of the pier, the central vein of the harbor, where a young woman sat at the edge, her legs dangly off the side and swinging merrily. Her hair was dark brown, almost black if it hadn't been for the sun's rays illuminating the red and gold strokes of color in the strands. They were very curly, but not in the uniform ringlets that were per the norm nowadays, but uneven curls that zigzagged, twisted and frizzed. The locks cascaded down to the small of her back. It especially thick considering the top layer had been pulled into a neat bun on the back of her head with the untamable curls restrained by a hair net, and yet the bottom layers were still at least an inch deep. The girl had a trunk close by her and a cat pacing back and forth on the wooden planks of the pier.

Edging closer, I could get a better look of her face that was opened up towards the water. Her skin was a pale olive tone, not near as fair as the other women in Boston but far from being as tan as me. Freckles dotted her skin but inconsistently with two or three on each shoulder, one on her jaw and in her hairline. They were more like moles than freckles but… Cute little brown moles. Curls framed her face and bristled softly in the breeze; obviously tickling her by the way she scrunched her nose and tried to blow the rebellious strands away, keeping her hands firmly in her lap.

"Excuse me," I began as I walked behind her. She turned and looked up at me. She had a very delicate nose at the center of her face, in the middle of two almond shaped eyes with amber colored irises framed by curled eyelashes. Her lips parted slightly and began forming words that seemed to go in one ear and out the other. After a moment of staring, I realized she had actually said something to me. "I beg your pardon?" I asked, leaning in closer and folding my hands behind my back.

"Are you Monsieur Davenport?" she asked in a strong but sweet voice peppered with a slight French accent. Shaking my head, I took her trunk in my arms.

"No, but I'm his… Apprentice. He is running a short errand right now and will meet us at the carriage. I assume you're Madam St. Cyr?" Annaliese, nodded, standing up and brushing off her dress. She was much shorter than me, probably standing at 5'4" with evenly proportioned torso and legs. I noticed immediately that she was not wearing a corset as so many other women did, for her waist was not drastically pulled inward. But her figure was a more natural type of hourglass figure shielded by the cream colored gown she was clad in. She was a little sturdier than other women, with a bigger bone structure in her limbs and hips. She reminded me of my mother but shorter and, of course, lighter skinned. Suddenly, her voice began to drone itself back into my head.

"(blah, blah, blah) - Thank you for carrying my trunk and why are you staring at my breasts?" I took a beat or two to realize my gaze had been set firmly to the young woman's cleavage. My eyes widened in shock and I could feel my face heat up from embarrassment.

"I-I was only thinking" I sputtered out, trying to stay calm and convince her that I was no pervert.

"About my chest…" she pursed her lips and looked away, blushing softly.

"No! I-I—"

"Hello my dear, you must be Annaliese," Achilles greeted from behind me, giving Mrs. St. Cyr a good excuse to run away from me, the pervert, the debauchee. I stood in self-loathing for a few moments, silently killing myself over and over again in my head before turning to watch the two interact.

"It's so nice to meet you monsieur" Annaliese smiled sweetly, holding the cat from before in her arms. (No doubt to block any view I had of her chest.) "Thank you so much for allowing me to stay here with you."

"It's the least I could do for my favorite student's daughter. Now, I see you've met Connor so no point in more introductions." Achilles snapped his attention to me, "Connor, take her trunk to the carriage, I will drive back to the homestead."

"Are you sure you wouldn't like me to drive, old man?" I asked but he shook his head stubbornly.

"I'd like you two to get to know each other. You will be living with each other after all."

* * *

Just a friendly reminder, I do not own anything besides Annaliese :)

Review please!


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